Every summer, millions of cycling fans are glued to their TV screens for the Tour de France. They watch the riders trudge across sweltering plains, battle the wind along the Atlantic coast, and finally battle gravity in the imposing Alps and Pyrenees. In these final battles, a term repeatedly appears: the "mountain category." Categories 4, 3, 2, 1, and the dreaded "hors catégorie" (literally: beyond category). But what exactly determines how difficult a climb is? And what does a Citroën 2CV, that simple French classic, have to do with these categories?
A persistent and particularly charming myth holds that the Tour de France used to measure the difficulty of a climb by the gear a Citroën 2CV could drive up the mountain in:
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Category 4: The 2CV could climb in fourth gear without any difficulty .
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Category 3: Only feasible in third gear .
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Category 2: The car had to go back to second gear .
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Category 1: Only possible in first gear .
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Hors catégorie: The slope was so steep or difficult that the 2CV simply couldn't make it .
It's a story cycling enthusiasts love to tell. It conjures up images of dusty French mountain roads, simple technology, and a time when everything seemed less complicated. But is it actually true?
The allure of myth
The 2CV was designed after World War II as an inexpensive farm car, suitable for transporting eggs over bumpy roads without breaking them. With its small engine and lightweight body, it's an icon of simplicity and modesty. The fact that this particular car was used as a benchmark for the toughness of Tourcols makes the story all the more compelling.
Moreover, it fits perfectly with the atmosphere of the old Tour de France. A time when riders changed their own tires, rode with wine in their water bottles, and climbed gravel roads. In that context, it doesn't seem far-fetched that a simple car like the 2CV was used to determine whether a climb was difficult.
Reality: Objective Standards
As nice as the story is, historically it's not true that the mountain categories are based on the gears of a 2CV. The Tour de France organization has never officially acknowledged that this system was used.
The actual classification of climbs in the Tour de France is based on objective criteria , such as:
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Length of the climb: A 3km climb is very different from a 15km one.
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Average gradient: The steeper, the harder.
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Maximum gradients: Sometimes a short steep section makes the difference.
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Location on the course: A climb early in the stage counts less than one in the final.
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Altitude: Higher passes involve more physical demands.
These factors are weighed, resulting in a classification system. The highest and most challenging mountains fall into the "Hors catégorie" category. Examples include Alpe d'Huez, Tourmalet, and Mont Ventoux.
Where does the myth come from?
While not official, it's quite possible that the 2CV story originated as a joke or metaphor within cycling circles or the French press. It might have been conceived as a humorous explanation to explain to laypeople how the system roughly worked. And as is the case with good stories, it was passed on, simplified, exaggerated, and eventually accepted as fact.
Moreover, the 2CV played a major role in French daily life from the 1950s to the 1980s. Everyone knew the car, and many people even owned one. By using this car as a benchmark, the concept of mountain categories suddenly became understandable and recognizable to the general public.
Cycling folklore and symbolism
The beauty of cycling is that, besides being a sport, it also boasts a rich culture . Stories, myths, symbols, and legends are just as important as the actual results. Think of the legend of Périgord wine in the water bottles of former riders, or the riders who shouldered their bikes across snowy fields.
The 2CV story belongs in that same category. It's not factually accurate, but it contributes to the romance and experience of the sport. It tells us something about how people viewed the Tour: as a human battle against the elements, where simplicity (like a 2CV) was pitted against the brute forces of nature (like a 2,000-meter climb).
The truth is sometimes less poetic
The real reason behind the categories is therefore much more technical. Paradoxically, it's precisely those technical details—length, gradient, location—that ultimately have a major impact on the race. A Category 1 climb just before the finish can make the difference between winning and losing, even if it's "less steep" than a HC climb mid-stage.
The Tour organization reviews the course every year. A climb that qualifies as a Category 1 climb in one edition might become a HC climb the next year (due to a different stage structure or finish). It's a dynamic system , not a fixed list you can simply look up.
A little bit of truth after all?
Although the 2CV wasn't an official measuring instrument, there might have been some truth to the story. In the 1940s and 1950s, there weren't yet sophisticated measuring methods like we know them today. So it's possible that people back then used practical methods to estimate the difficulty of a climb, perhaps based on experience, or indeed: whether a car could reach the top without stalling. Perhaps it wasn't a Citroën 2CV, but some other weakly powered vehicle.
So the idea that people used to determine the difficulty of a mountain with a simple car isn't entirely unthinkable. However, it wasn't a systematic method, and certainly not an official guideline.
Conclusion
The story that the Tour de France's mountain categories are based on the gears of a Citroën 2CV is a myth . A fun, graphic, and charming myth that fits perfectly with the spirit of cycling and its rich history. But historically, it's inaccurate.
Yet it deserves a place in cycling folklore. It reminds us that cycling isn't just about numbers, wattage, and climbing percentages, but also about stories, imagination, and nostalgia. And that a simple car like the 2CV, once the symbol of the French countryside, also has a place in the history of the world's greatest cycling race.
Perhaps that's why it doesn't matter so much whether the story is true. Perhaps it's like the Tour itself: greater than the sum of its facts.